Nature Versus Nurture 1: Project Octopus
by The Master Planner
Summary: A group of scientists secretly clone Doctor Octopus and give the clone up for adoption to see what happens. When she finds out the secret to her past, what will Octavia choose...nature or nurture?
1. Created in a Laboratory

Okay, I've got a new story to tell! For those of you who know me from my previous two stories, the Austin series won't be concluded till much later, when I get to writing it. So, try to enjoy this story anyway.

But, whoever you are, one and all, read and review! Questions, comments, compliments, and flames are always welcome!

Nature Versus Nurture

Chapter 1: Prologue: Created in a Laboratory

"Why do you need my DNA?" the doctor asked. The dim yellow lights of a police interrogation room flickered overhead.

The man this question was directed at held a syringe in one hand and a rubber strip and vial in the other. He was planning to take the doctor's blood.

"There's been a rash of bank robberies and vandalisms of scientific laboratories lately. The DNA evidence we take now could exonerate you."

"Well, if I wasn't mind-numbingly stupid enough to leave DNA at the scene of the crime, I would use my actuators to handle the stolen object in question, wouldn't I?" For this was no ordinary doctor. The suspect was the notorious supervillian Doctor Octopus.

"I wouldn't know. And if you don't cooperate, I could get a court order to get a blood sample. Now, stick out your _arm_, please, Doc Ock—"

"—_tavius_," the doctor snapped. For the life of him, he couldn't see why they'd named him after an underwater mollusk. However, he obliged, holding out a flesh and blood arm and rolling up his sleeve.

The man was strictly business as he stuck the needle in. The man tried to ignore the four tentacles that curved over the doctor's shoulders. They hissed and clicked at him, for their voices could only speak in the doctor's mind.

The man, his job done, carelessly flicked the sample vial with his finger. "You're free to go, Ock—"

"—_tavius_," the doctor corrected again as he stood up to leave. For the life of him, he couldn't understand why they called him that.

Dr. Nancy Melitta was raptly gazing at the plastic Petri dish. To the untrained eye, it didn't seem like anything important. A layman would never think the contents of the human container was a human being. But that was exactly what it was, in a way. Inside the plastic container were cells, constantly multiplying and dividing. This was the very beginning of life—out of this primordial soup would emerge one female infant, if this was successful.

As Nancy adjusted the dials of the equipment, she found herself speaking to the contents as if it was already a completely formed little girl. "But you won't be just any little girl," she said. "You're going to be very special."

Nancy was startled by the voice behind her. "Is this a private conversation or can anyone join in?"

Nancy looked at her boss, Dr. Grace Morrison. "I'm afraid it's a bit one-sided," Nancy said. "She isn't answering—just yet."

Grace laughed. "Even our little Octavia isn't _that_ advanced."

Nancy smiled. She was just the geneticist, taking care of the technical details. Grace, the psychologist, was certainly going to take credit for the experiment.

"So, tell me more about the Great Experiment," Nancy prodded.

Grace was happy to oblige. She loved the sound of her own voice. "Ah, Project Octopus. Well, Nancy, let me ask you a question. What has more influence on a child's life—genetics or environment? If a little boy grows up to be just like Dad, is it because he shares his father's genetic traits or because he grew up observing his father? That's the leading question in psychology, the nature versus nurture question."

"Is that the question you're trying to answer?"

"Yes. We cloned the scientist known as Otto Octavius—also known as the supervillian Doctor Octopus, with certain fundamental changes, obviously. Octavia shares all of her DNA, except for the one X chromosome, with this man. As soon as she develops fully, we'll give her to a loving couple I've picked out. She'll be raised in a stable, secure, ideal environment, without an overbearing mother or an abusive father. Then, when she reaches puberty, we'll give her a set of tentacles, and what do you think will happen next?"

"She may win the Nobel Prize—or a spot on the Ten Most Wanted list." Nancy's face darkened. "We're playing around with an innocent human life here. Aren't you worried about the ethical implications?"

"Did Martin Luther worry about the implications when he posted his 99 Theses on the church door? Did Copernicus worry about the implications when he said the sun went round the earth? Did Einstein worry about the implications when he wrote his famous equation? This could be the greatest psychology experiment since Harlow and the monkeys."

"Yes, Grace, but this is a human life, not a monkey. She may end up feeling resentful over what we did to her."

"I felt resentful when my parents didn't get me a Cabbage Patch doll when I was six. If her case study proves conclusively whether genetics or environment influence her more, we'll be in the history books. Right along with Copernicus, Einstein, and Harlow."

Nancy Melitta was running the final tests. The table of plastic containers had been replaced by one incubator, such as the ones used for premature babies in hospitals. Inside the incubator lay a baby girl with big brown eyes and a shock of soft brown hair. Octavia, as they dubbed her, lay on her stomach, revealing the mark that would identify her when the scientists came back for her: a tiny octopus.

Grace Morrison burst through the door with a young couple in tow. They looked perfectly normal and stable, as they better be, considering the endless battery of tests that the couple had to go through.

"You've run background checks, medical tests, psychological tests, IQ test, and questioned us on everything from our childhoods to our sex lives. Does every couple have to go through this to adopt? All we want is a child of our own," moaned Mr. Joseph Jones.

"Mr. Jones, you don't grasp the purpose of all these tests, do you?" snapped Grace. "You have been selected—no, _chosen_—to take care of a very special little girl. I want to make sue you are the best parents for the job."

"Where is she, then?" asked Mrs. Jane Jones, Joe's wife.

"In a minute," said. Grace. "I need you to sign some papers." She pushed over an inch tall stack of paperwork, then leafed through it. "Sign here, here, here, here—and then here, here, here, here, and here, initial here, here, here—"

"We've already signed enough papers to deplete a rainforest," sighed Jane. "What is all this for?"

"It's legal mumbo jumbo. Just sign it."

The couple began signing the paperwork. They had severe writer's cramp after they were done.

Grace reviewed the paperwork. "Okay, everything's in order. Come with me." She opened the incubator, gently lifting the baby out. "Here she is," she said.

"Does she have a name?" asked Jane.

"We call her Octavia," Grace replied.

"It's a nice name," replied Jane, taking the infant. "It will do."


	2. Assigned an Ottobiography

Sorry for the long update, don't worry, I didn't die or get kidnapped by aliens. Although the idea of getting kidnapped by a certain tentacled mad scientist sounds good-okay, I'm not going to talk about my Ottophilia. Anyway, to the reviewers, whom I thank:

To K9 the First: Ooh, dude, I hope so!

To Agent Silver: Yup, clones. I guess having to do that college biology report on cloning really got to me. Oh yeah...did you check out "The Moment of My Greatness" yet? Not to put pressure on you or anything, I know you've been writing "My Valentine"...

To Moonjava: Hot dang, that has got to tie the record for shortest review ever! But I hope this story will be nice.

Now, to the story! Yeah, I know aboutthe title, I have an affinity with bad puns. And dramatic irony. So, for Pete's sake, read the story! Like what you read? Review it! Don't like what you read? Review it anyway and tell me why! Got a question? Go ahead and ask it! Now get to it!

Chapter 2: Assigned an Otto-biography

Ms. Weller looked at her English class over thick glasses. "I see all of you have done an exemplary job on your biographies," she said. "Please take your graded assignment as I pass it out to you."

She moved among the class, passing out the papers. Twelve-year-old Octavia Jones examined her paper, a biography of Marie Curie. She was pleased to see that she had received an A, and a note of "Excellent work—you have a lot of passion for your topic!"

Octavia pushed her paper to the side of the desk, making sure that Brittany Gibson, who had been her archrival since second grade, saw her grade.

Brittany Gibson also pushed her paper, a biography of Princess Diana, to the side. Octavia was dismayed to see that Brittany had also received an A. Octavia wrinkled her nose. Someday Ms. Weller was going to give one of them an A plus. Then they'd know which one was really the best.

Octavia then bent over her cell phone. She quickly text messaged her best friends, Daisy Gatsby and Jordan Nicholas. "Meet me at my house today," she typed.

"Okay," said Ms. Weller. "Who can tell me the difference between a biography and an autobiography?"

Octavia and Brittany shot their hands up exactly at the same time. Unfortunately, Ms. Weller called on Brittany.

"An autobiography," Brittany said, "is an essay or book a person writes about himself and his own life."

"His _or her_ own life," Ms. Weller corrected. Octavia smirked at this. "But that is exactly right." Brittany smirked back at Octavia. "Now, your next assignment is to write an autobiography."

Dwayne Johnson raised his hand. "Uh…who are we writing about?"

Ms. Weller sighed. "Dwayne, what did Brittany just say? You must write an essay on your life."

Octavia smirked again. Dwayne was a blooming idiot thicker than a concussed baboon, but the girls all liked him because he looked like an adorable cross between Josh Hartnett and Ashton Kutcher. Conversely, Octavia had a super-genius level IQ, but looked quite ordinary, so the boys paid no attention to her. She reasoned that this was because the average junior high student could see better than they could think.

Alan Holmes, the class clown, raised his hand next. "So, that means we all have to write essays about Dwayne?"

"Very funny, Alan," groaned Ms. Weller. "Now, your essay is due two weeks from now. This should give you plenty of time to research your life."

Octavia raised her hand. "Exactly what do we have to write about ourselves?"

"It's impossible to say exactly," Ms. Weller told her. "Since no two people are the same, no two autobiographies are the same. Generally a person writes about the history of their family, their ancestry, and then move on to their birth, growth, and important events in their life. I want you to research yourselves as well as you can. Talk to your parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, learn about how you developed."

"Developed?" a girl asked faintly, prompting several sniggers from the class. Octavia rolled her eyes.

"Get your minds out of the gutter," Ms. Weller snapped. "I'm talking about your growth, walking, talking. What your first words were, all that. What your goals are and how you're planning to achieve them. For example, what do you want to do with your life, Octavia?"

"I'm going to become a scientist and win the Nobel Prize." Octavia said confidently. Then, only half-jokingly, she said, "Then I'm going to take over the world. No seriously, just kidding. About taking over the world, I mean."

Brittany then turned to her best friend Heather Cannes. Speaking just loud enough for Octavia to hear, she said, "I should have no trouble writing my autobiography. When I was ten, I won Junior Miss Venice. And then I represented Venice in the Junior Cheerleading Championship. We won first place."

Octavia leaned over to Brittany. "I represented Venice in the National Science Fair and won second place. Then I got an award in the Young Scientist Program. How many times have you won anything that didn't involve showing off your T and A, Brittany?"

"At least I _have_ some T and A, Geek Girl," snarled Brittany. A classroom catfight was avoided by the ringing of the class bell.

Octavia was glad she had lunch period next, so she could talk about this with her friends over soggy mystery meat stew.

"No need to worry, O," declared Daisy Gatsby. "It's your own life, you don't have to make anything up. Just write down everything that's happened to you."

"What's there to write?" asked Octavia. "I know I'm a science whiz and a super genius and all that, but nothing ever happens to me. Nothing interesting."

"You did that big science fair thing, right?"

"That only gets you so far." The mystery meat soup was hotter than a compressed nuclear reactor core. Octavia started cleaning her foggy sunglasses with the edge of her jacket.

"Well, write about your family," offered Jordan Nicholas.

"Helloooo, Jordan, where did you park your brain?" rebuked Daisy. "Octavia's _adopted_!"

"So?" retorted Jordan. "A whole bunch of famous people were adopted. Dave Thomas, Faith Hill, Superman…"

"Jordan, my mom and dad go catatonic when I ask them about my biological parents. Can we get off the subject?" asked Octavia.

Jordan rummaged through her backpack, drawing out a Spider-man comic book. Daisy groaned, but Octavia was relieved. Jordan could talk about her favorite comic book villain for hours.

"Jordan, you are _hopeless_," Daisy moaned. "How can you think a fat ugly mad scientist is hot? And he has that awful haircut and the stupid green suit."

"I'm attracted to frickin' evil geniuses, okay?" Jordan started thumbing through the comic.

"Octavia," implored Daisy, "please help our friend Jordan come to her senses."

"I mean, _how_ many times did you drag us along to see _Spider-man 2_? " Octavia asked. She picked up the comic, and her insides gave a sudden lurch. However, she ignored the omen. "Well, he's not _hot_, per se, but you have to admit the idea of the four actuators is intriguing. I mean, they'd sure come in handy, outside the laboratory as well as in. I mean, the first thing I'd do if I had tentacles is to smack some intelligence into Brittany Gibson's head. Too bad it's only comic book fiction."

"Anyway, I've been having these weird dreams," Octavia said.

"Like the old one where you're a baby lying in a glass cage and scientists in lab coats are standing over you?" Daisy asked. "I heard of this website for dream interpretation. I'll go check that out."

"It's been recurring more often," Octavia said.

"It's puberty," Jordan advised.

"Jordan, you think everything has to do with puberty," Octavia pointed out.

Jordan was extremely smart, but she didn't look it: she had wavy blonde hair down to the small of her back and a beauty that plain brunette Octavia constantly envied. No one ever told dumb blonde jokes about Jordan.

"Well, it's a big deal. Your hormones are going crazy, your body and brain are changing, and your emotions are a wreck. Did you hear about Amy Clarkson in geography Friday? She _burst into tears_ in the middle of class just because she didn't know the main exports of California. Puberty makes you do all kinds of things."

"Like crush on tentacled mad scientist supervillians?" asked Daisy.

"Shut _up_."

"Listen, guys, have your mothers been acting weird lately?" asked Octavia.

"Weirder than usual?" asked Daisy.

"Yeah, my mom's been acting all nervous, she keeps looking at me as if I'm going to explode or sprout extra arms or something. Like she's afraid of what she's going to see."

"It's puberty," Jordan said sagely. "My mom looks at me like that too. Our moms are just watching for the signs. Bad moods…acne…extra hair…breasts…menstruation…"

"Jordan!" Daisy squeaked. "You can't blame everything on puberty!"

"Just _about_," Jordan rejoined.

"So," Octavia said, "let's meet at my house. We'll sneak into the front door."

"Um," said Jordan, "don't you mean 'sneak in the back door'?"

"No, I got it right the first time. The hunky pool repairman's coming today. For the third time this week. I swear my mom plugs up the filter on purpose just so the repairman can come out and she can stand there with nothing but a towel on. So we can just sneak in and help each other with the autobiographies."


	3. Searched For Clues to Her Past

Now to the reviewers' box:

To Lady Kayoss: Yes, I was inspired for this scene when I browsed the Hollywood collection in the comic book section in the local B. Dalton's. However, I didn't buy it because they wanted twelve dollars for it, and I didn't have twelve cents to my name. So it is a similar situation.

To K9: Haven't you ever seen Desperate Housewives? And keep on wondering-she'll find out soon enough and I'm not giving anything away.

Now, to the next thrilling chapter! Octavia and her friends come up with a daring plan to get information to her past! Do I even need to remind you to read and review?

Chapter 3: Searched For Clues to Her Past

Octavia spent the whole afternoon talking with Daisy and Jordan about her autobiography.

"Are you _sure_ you don't know anything about your biological parents?" Daisy asked.

"I'm _positive_," said Octavia. "I don't even know their names."

"I have an idea," said Jordan. "Remember when I had the mono, and I had to stay out of p. e. for a month? Mrs. Carroll, the office secretary, made me sit in the office and work on the computers and staple things. Anyway, they've got these big file cabinets in there, and every student has a big fat folder. I saw Mrs. Carroll put things in them and take things out all the time. Everything about you and what you've ever done is in that folder. For example, one time, Simone Cusack was sent home for doing something terrible."

"Like what?" Daisy eagerly asked.

"I don't know. She hit a teacher, or bit her, something like that. _Anyway_, Mrs. Carroll wrote a report on it and put it in her folder. It'll stay there forever and ever. Simone herself doesn't even know it's there."

"Did you ever look in your folder?" asked Octavia.

"No. I wanted to, but it's like, totally forbidden, and someone was always in the office with me. Hey—here's an idea. Let's find out when the next faculty meeting is, and sneak into the office then. The secretary doesn't lock the door until she leaves for the day. I know which drawer the student folders are in. We'll get yours, look inside, and you'll find out _something_. At the very least your birth certificate will be in there."

"Isn't that against the rules?" responded Octavia. "I've never broken a school rule in my life, and I'm not about to start now."

"Come on," said Jordan. "Who ever won anything by playing by the rules?"

"What if we get caught?" worried Daisy. However, the discussion abruptly stopped when Mrs. Jones entered the room.

"Mom!" Octavia called. "What's for dinner?"

"I'm fixing spaghetti with vodka tomato sauce. Only I'm making it without the spaghetti. Or the tomato sauce."

"Mom…" she implored.

"Just kidding. I'm not a drunk. How about macaroni and cheese for dinner?"

Octavia followed her mother to the kitchen. She needed to know about her birth parents one way or another. "Mom, were you really good at science stuff when you were my age?"

Her mother was paying more attention to the cheese she was grating than to Octavia, which was kind of grating to the girl, pardon the pun. "No, Octavia, I was more into the cheerleading and dance teams. Believe it or not, I was kind of the Brittany Gibson type."

"What about my father? Was he nerdy?"

There was a fraction of a pause in the grating. "No, he was the jock type."

"Because I know I'm a super-genius, _really_ smart, and I'm a major science whiz, and I was wondering who I got it from. Isn't that the kind of thing that's inherited from one of your parents?"

A noticeable pause in the cheese grating. "_Sort of_. Not necessarily. I can't talk about this."

"Why?"

"Because I was forbidden to talk about your biological—origins—until the time came. Your father and I had to sign papers to that effect before we adopted you."

"Fat lot of good it does me now for my autobiography assignment, huh?" Octavia asked.

It was clear that her mother had nothing more to say on the subject. Octavia popped her head in her room, where Daisy and Jordan were polishing each other's nails. Daisy had absolutely refused to paint Jordan's toenails green and orange.

Jordan gestured towards Octavia's personal phone. "Your boyfriend called, he just got back from Alaska," she said. "He wants you to call him."

David Rose wasn't exactly Octavia's boyfriend. The shy young poet and writer had been set up for Octavia's blind date by his cousin Jordan once. But maybe Octavia could do to madly love something besides science. Life had its ups and downs.

"Tell him I'll call back later." Octavia bent over under an end table and grabbed a large mint green and white scrapbook. Octavia dragged it out and opened it.

"Ooh, what is that?" asked Daisy.

She'd looked at her baby book before, but never with any particular need in mind. Now, she and her friends pored over every page, looking for something for her autobiography.

There was a birth announcement, but it didn't tell her anything interesting—her full name (Octavia Mary Jones), her birth date (August 8), her weight and length, (a bit under the average). It didn't even list the hospital where she was born. There was a lock of brown hair taped to a page and a picture of a baby in a cradle. Then there were the dates of her "firsts": first step (nine months) first words (at eleven months, the young genius had actually said, "Mommy, can I have my bottle?") first baby tooth, first report card. There were her mother's notes on the fact that she was an unusually precocious child who quickly was bored with Winnie the Pooh and wanted to read works by Milton and Shakespeare. Other than the fact that Octavia was a child prodigy, it could have been _anyone's_ baby book.

"Damn," she said. "Nothing I didn't know before."

"Whoa," said Daisy. "At eleven months, you straight out asked your mommy for your bottle? In a complete sentence? At twelve months, _I_ was barely saying 'Momma.'"

"I'm a genius, what can I say?"

"Octavia, can you come in and make a salad?"

Octavia closed the book and went into the kitchen. She searched through the refrigerator for salad stuff. "Mom, I was born in Venice, wasn't I?"

"Yes."

"What hospital?"

Her back to Octavia, Jane Jones continued to grate cheese silently for a few minutes. "Why do you want to know?"

For some reason, Octavia didn't want to tell her mother about her assignment. "Well, weren't you there with my birth mother when she had me? I'm just curious."

"You don't remember?"

The cheese grater was set down with a thud. "Things were crazy then. I had cancer a few years before, I had to have a hysterectomy, I could never have children of my own. Then I searched for years to have a baby to adopt. It was a surprise when the agency came forward and told me Dad and I had been chosen to raise you."

"But who are my biological parents? Surely you met them when they had me and handed me over to you to adopt?"

"I don't remember. Octavia, why don't you start washing that lettuce?"

"But my friend David Rose is adopted, and he knows all about _his_ biological parents."

"Octavia Mary Jones, if you're not going to make a salad, set the table, or do something else to help. Your father is coming home from work and he wants a warm dinner."

"Whatever," she mumbled. It was becoming extremely clear to Octavia that her mother was going to be no help at all for her assignment. Maybe Jordan was right—looking in her official school folder was the only way she could get any answers.

Okay, so it was against the rules. But it was _her_ folder, after all! It wasn't like she was robbing a bank!

Mr. Joe Jones burst through the door. "Hey honey! How's my two favorite girls doing?"

"Honey," Jane said quietly, "we need to talk."


	4. Introduced to a Mysterious Vice Principa...

Thank you to the **one** person who reviewed the last chapter:

To K9: Isn't that what a plot is supposed to do?

Now, to the story! Octavia begins to notice the signs of her identity...and how is the new vice principal connected to her? Do I even need to remind you to read and review?

Chapter 4: Introduced to A Mysterious Vice Principal

Octavia and Jordan were walking to school.

"Hey, happy birthday, Jordan," said Octavia. "I already have your present."

Octavia drew out a thick comic book. "Here ya go."

Jordan was obviously pleased. "Whoa! The Spider-man/Doctor Octopus Year One series? Cool! How'd you find this!"

"Bought it for myself," Octavia said glumly. "Mom caught me with it and went ballistic. She made me get rid of it. So let me borrow it sometime, will ya?"

But Jordan was once again deep in thought. "Hey, what's the matter?"

"It's Tuesday."

"So?"

"It's National Dental Week, remember?"

That wasn't the kind of thing Octavia noted on her planner, though she did recall seeing it on the bulletin. Still, she didn't understand what that had to do with her best friend's mood.

"So?"

"So this is the day when they're giving free dental exams in the cafeteria. My mom says I have to get one, because our regular dentist moved away and I haven't had a checkup in eight months."

Octavia didn't have to ask anything more. Jordan's fear of dentists was as well known to Octavia as her Doctor Octopus obsession. She tried to reassure her friend. "Look, Jordan, all the dentist is going to do is look in your mouth. And even if he finds anything, he can't do anything, he'll just send a note to your dad. That doesn't sound that bad, does it?"

Jordan's voice was still grim. "Then Daddy will take me to another dentist."

"Well, nothing's going to happen today, so don't worry about it now."

Jordan looked at her friend in despair. "You _know_ how I feel about dentists, Ock! What if I panic in the cafeteria and freak out in front of everyone?"

"You won't."

"I might." Jordan said darkly. After a moment, she added, "Are you getting a checkup?"

"No."

"Why not, it's free," Jordan pointed out. "You don't even have to get a note from your parents."

"Because I've _never_ had anything wrong with my teeth—wait a minute. I see where this is going. You want me to get a checkup I don't want and don't need, just so I can go there with you?"

"Yes!" Jordan wailed. "You're my best friend. I need you for emotional support!"

"Okay, okay," Octavia agreed. "But you owe me a favor."

"Name it."

"Help me get into my folder at school."

Jordan grinned. "I knew you'd come around."

"I'm desperate. I'm lucky if I pull a C out of this assignment."

"Come on, Ock," Jordan said. "You're the smartest girl in the school. You're good at everything. You'll come up with something."

"Like what?"

"You're really good at science. You're taking college courses in biology, chemistry, and physics. And you're always joking about how you're going to become a scientist and take over the world."

"Ha, ha," said Octavia. "Octavia Jones, infamous supervillian. Yeah right. Doubt I'll get ten pages out of some science stuff."

Octavia paused to reach into the back of her brown trench coat. "Damn, my back itches. It's been itching like crazy."

"Maybe it's the tags? Try taking the coat off," suggested Jordan.

Octavia took off the coat. She was wearing a sleeveless green shirt and jeans.

"Oh my gawd!" exclaimed Jordan.

"What?"

"I didn't know you had a birthmark."

"That's news to me," mumbled Octavia. "What does it look like?"

"Let's take a closer look." Jordan took a small makeup mirror from her backpack. She flipped it open, spilling half the powder out of it in the process.

"Whoa! I didn't know you got a tattoo!"

"_What!_" Octavia yelped. "I never got a tattoo. Mom and Dad would kill me!"

"It's not a regular birthmark, it has a shape! It looks just like a little octopus! Take the mirror and see!"

"Jordan, you see octopuses everywhere. It does _not_ look like an octopus. It's just an ordinary birthmark." Octavia took the mirror and looked at her right shoulder blade.

But Jordan was right. That mark was definitely a little dark brown octopus. Octavia began rubbing it with her finger. It didn't hurt, but it didn't go away either.

"Holy crap," Octavia said. "I've never seen a birthmark shaped like an octopus before."

"That's nothing," said Jordan. "My third cousin James has a birthmark that looks like a strawberry."

It was easy holding up Octavia's end of the bargain. Those students who were having dental checkups were excused from second period classes. Sitting in a cafeteria with a very jittery Jordan Nicholas wasn't much fun, but it sure beat sitting through geography. Octavia began scratching her back. "God damn, my back itches."

"What if he takes out that drill and those needles? What if I start screaming and freaking out?" asked Jordan.

"_Relax_, why don't you?" asked Octavia. "Just close your eyes and visualize your lover Doctor Octopus holding you—with all six arms."

Daisy, also getting a checkup, burst into loud laughter.

"Shut _up_, both of you. I never made fun of _you_ when you were crushing on Daniel Radcliffe that time, Daisy."

The dentist was a nice man who allowed Octavia to sit by Jordan's side during her checkup. Jordan's eyes were squeezed shut, as if she was on the verge of screaming. But she survived the exam; the only bad moment was when he made some ominous remarks about Jordan needing to see an orthodontist.

The three went out into the hall. "Hey look!" exclaimed Daisy, pointing to the notice on the hall bulletin board. "'Faculty meeting, 3:45, media center.'"

The other two took notice of the significance of this. "Bingo," said Jordan. "Operation Autobiography is now in progress. I'll meet all three of you at my locker after school."

Jordan's stomach did flip-flops when it came to dentists and had butterflies when it came to tentacled mad scientists, but Jordan was a true, loyal, and (almost) fearless friend. Octavia knew she wouldn't bail out on her. At 3:45, the three were in the principal's office.

"Okay, Daisy, you're the lookout in case anyone comes. If that happens, start fake coughing to let us know. Ock and I are heading to the folders," Jordan directed.

As Jordan had predicted, the door was unlocked. "I can't believe they just leave it open like this," Octavia said. "Geez! My back itches all up and down my spine."

"It's not like there's anything valuable in here," offered Jordan.

"Except to me," she said.

"Of course. Here it is—Big Brother's secret stockpile of student information."

It was too easy. Octavia opened the drawer labeled H-K. She flipped through the folders. "Jackson; Jameson; Jerome; Jokson; Jones, Annabel; Jones, Octavia…that's mine!"

Octavia drew out the folder labeled "Jones, Octavia M." But it wasn't like the others, stuffed with papers.

"Jordan…it's empty!"

"What! Impossible!"

"See for yourself."

"Shit! If you scrape your knee, they put a note in there. Why the hell would yours be empty?"

"Maybe they're transferring the information to computer," Octavia offered lamely.

"You're smarter than that. Why would they start with you, instead of in alphabetical order?"

There was a sudden bout of coughing from Daisy's direction. But her warning was too late. A sharp voice spoke from behind them.

"What are you doing?"

The girls froze. Then they turned around.

Octavia didn't recognize the man in front of her. He was tall, slender, with neatly combed black hair, and he wore a suit. He repeated his question. "What are you doing?"

"Uh…we were looking for something," Jordan said.

The man stepped towards them. It had been drilled into Octavia from diapers that perverts didn't always look like "dirty old men" in raincoats.

"If you step any closer, I'm going to scream," Octavia warned, still clutching the folder. The man ignored her and took the folder from her hand. He looked at her, looked at the folder, and replaced it in the file cabinet.

"I know what you want to do, Octavia Jones," he whispered. You want to find information about your biological family. _But_ _be careful_. You may not want to know where you came from."

Then a small woman with steel gray hair entered the office. "Mr. Carlyle," she began, then stopped. "What are you girls doing here?"

Octavia went pale. Principal Holmes was always intimidating, but with the frown she had now, she was downright scary. Jordan was thinking she'd rather face off against the whole Sinister Six than Dr. Holmes.

"Octavia Jones and Jordan Nicholas were looking in the lost and found box," Mr. Carlyle said. "They were looking for…what was it, a watch?"

"Y-yes," Octavia said. "My watch."

"And did you find your watch, Octavia?" asked Dr. Holmes.

"No."

"You should be more careful of your possessions, young lady. Now get home."

"Yes, Dr. Holmes, I will," said Octavia. Then she and Jordan began backing out of the office, then walking fast, then running.

They didn't stop running until they got to the Jones house, where they collapsed on the ground in hysterical giggles.

"I thought I'd _die_!" Jordan exclaimed. "Did you freak when you saw that man?"

"My heart practically stopped," agreed Octavia. "And when Dr. Holmes entered the room, I didn't know whether I should be glad or double-freaked."

"Who was he, anyway?"

"Oh yeah, I remember…it was in the bulletin! Mr. Carlyle, the new assistant principal!"

"And to think you told the _assistant principal_ that you were going to scream if he came any closer!" Jordan laughed.

"Hey, I didn't know! He could have been a pervert looking for girls to kidnap!"

Jordan stopped giggling. "But he covered for us…that's weird, covering for the students. Wonder why he did it—that just makes no sense."

"I don't know and I don't care," said Octavia. Because there were other things that made even less sense.

What was with that octopus-shaped birthmark about?

Why was her folder empty?

Where was she going to get information for her biography?

And what was Mr. Carlyle's strange remark about?


	5. Kidnapped by Men in Black

Straight to the reviewers! Thank you...

To LadyKayoss: Um, best pal Jordan's the one who's obsessed...but the reaction's gonna be strong. Trust me.

To K9: What's plot-syrup? And I'm just winging it (unlike my two Austin stories, which were written before I joined) but I'll try not to screw it up.

Well, the plot's been kinda plodding along, but it builds up in this chapter. Stay tuned, and don't forget to read and review!

Chapter 5: Kidnapped by Men in Black

"Something's going on, Jordan," said Octavia. "All this weird stuff's happening to me. I pointed out my birthmark to Mom and she nearly went apoplectic. And she _still_ won't tell me who my biological parents are! What's the deal?"

Jordan was stirring her mystery meat stew while reading her comic book. "I know—maybe your biological father is some kind of a criminal or supervillian. Your trench coat, your brown eyes hid by sunglasses, your passion for science, your jokes about taking over the world…"

"For Chrissakes!" Octavia exclaimed. "I swear you have Doc Ock on the brain! How am I going to get my autobiography done!"

"Calm down. I'm just _kidding_. We both know Doc Ock's a made up comic book character. But maybe it's true that your mom and dad might feel embarrassed about who your biological parents are and that's why they won't tell you about them. But you'd better get cracking. The assignment's due in, like, two weeks."

Octavia went to Ms. Weller's classroom.

"Ms. Weller?"

The teacher looked up from her paperwork. "Yes, Octavia?"

"I'm having a problem with my autobiography."

"What kind of problem?"

"Um…I don't really know anything about myself."

Ms. Weller's brow puckered. "I don't understand, Octavia. What do you mean?"

"Well, I was adopted, and my parents won't tell me anything about my biological parents! I can't even find out where I was born!"

"That shouldn't be too hard to learn. It would be on your birth certificate."

"Where can I get one?" Octavia asked. She began scratching again; the itching sensation had spread from the nape of her neck down her spine to her crack.

"There's a copy of it in your student folder. Why don't you ask Mrs. Carroll for it? I'll help you; there's still a few minutes of lunch left."

Octavia went with her. She knew she'd be in big trouble if Ms. Weller knew she sneaked into her folder.

The main office of the school was as busy and noisy as usual; teachers checking the contents of their mailboxes and chatting; unruly troublemakers waiting for the principal to deal with them; students dropping off excuse notes and stuff. And Mr. Carlyle was just standing outside the door of the assistant principal's office, just staring.

Ms. Weller rapped on the secretary's desk. "Mrs. Carroll, I need a copy of Octavia Jones' file."

The secretary dug in the file cabinet and pulled out a folder just as fat as everyone else's. "Let's see…Jones, Octavia M, here we go."

"Are you sure that's mine?" Octavia asked.

"Of course," said Ms. Weller. "It's got your name on it. I see you got perfect 5's on all your AP science tests…well, here's your certificate! Mrs. Carroll, make a photocopy of this."

Octavia looked at the copy. It looked authentic; there was the official seal of the state of New York, and a lot of signatures and numbers. There was her full name, date of birth, time of birth. But something was very wrong.

There was no name after the space for her mother. No father's name either. The certificate listed Joseph and Jane Jones as adoptive mother and father. That was it.

"It's downright creepy," Octavia said after school. "It doesn't even have the names of my birth parents! What's the deal! And if you say a comic book supervillian is my father, I'll throttle you."

"This is getting too weird even for me," Jordan said.

"And remember when Carlyle caught us in the files? He said, 'Be careful. You may not want to know where you came from.' What's up with that?"

For once, neither one had any answers.

Until a black sedan pulled up to the curb. A man wearing a black suit that neither girl recognized rolled down the window. "I'm here for Miss Octavia Jones," he said.

"What do you want?" asked Octavia.

"Your mother was in an accident. She is in the hospital and I was sent to take you there."

"If her mom's in the hospital, I'm going with her," said Jordan. "I'm her best friend."

"I'm afraid that isn't possible, Miss Jordan Nicholas."

Octavia turned away and began to run. Whatever this man was up to, it couldn't be any good.

She barely made it back to the main office. The man pulled out a rifle and fired one shot. A tranquilizer dart lodged itself into Octavia's neck, and she fell to the ground senseless.

"What the hell did you do!" Jordan yelled. "You shot her!" Ignoring her own safety, she rushed towards her friend—and her kidnapper.

The man in the black suit pushed Jordan away. "I wouldn't interfere in things you don't know about and understand even less." He picked up Octavia and dragged her to the back seat of the car.

The black sedan sped off.


	6. Grafted to Four Actuators

Let's go over and read the reviews from the (heavy sarcasm) adoring fans, shall we? Thank you to K9, who has followed this story from the beginning: Forget plot-syrup. This story is unexpectedly becoming plot-molasses.

I recently got LadyKayoss' review on my already completed Austin stories and let me just say-_cute_ is not the word that comes to mind. Especially when we're talking about Doc Ock's son and Spider-man's daughter, and they both have their famous fathers' powers.

On to the story! I suppose what happens in this chapter was inevitable, considering the circumstances, but there's also a lot more going on. So, read, review, and enjoy!

Chapter 6: Grafted to Four Tentacles

"Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay

To mould me man? Did I solicit thee

From darkness to promote me?"

John Milton, _Paradise Lost_, 10.743-45

"uhhhhhhhh…"

"She's awake."

"where am I?"

"We'd better explain everything."

"where's mom? where's dad?"

"No! Let her figure it out on her own. We have monitored her. She and her blonde friend are familiar with him."

"The witness to the capture?"

"Yes. We will have to pay her a generous amount to keep quiet."

"She may not accept hush money."

"A girl like her will. I know her kind. Blonde hair, blue eyes, suntanned, rosy skin. Probably one of the cheerleader types. Spends all her money on designer clothes and dates with football players. She'll accept it."

"hello?"

Octavia's groggy eyes came into focus on a tall woman wearing a white lab coat. She was imposing, with long black hair tied in a ponytail, olive skin, and eyes like black holes.

"where am I?" she murmured.

The woman looked down at her. "You are quite safe. You're in a private hospital. My name is Dr. Grace Morrison. What are the last events you can remember in the last week?"

Octavia strained to recall. "um…I was assigned an autobiography for English class…and I looked for information about my birth parents…and I couldn't find any…"

"You know you are adopted?"

"Yeah…"

"Go on."

"and then my back started to itch…more like my spine…and then I saw this weird birthmark, my best friend swore it looked like a little octopus, but she sees octopuses everywhere, she loves him…"

"Loves who?"

"oh, I don't remember, some kind of comic book villain, a mad scientist…why are you asking me this stuff, I feel like I'm gonna hurl…and everything's so blurry…and then some guy in a black suit came up and shot me…"

"Don't worry, Octavia, I can explain everything. There's no need to freak out, as you teenagers pithily put it."

"Why would I freak out? What's there to freak out about?"

Octavia's eyes swam into focus. The first thing she saw was one, two, four bright pink lights. The pink lights were attached to four huge, snake-like metal tentacles, trimmed in metallic magenta, hovering over her, as if they were…_staring_ at her?

"Aaaaaaahhhhh!" Octavia screamed. "What the hell have you done to me! What the hell are these!"

"They're your new actuators, Octavia," Dr. Morrison said.

"What the hell are you waiting for! Take them off! Get them off!" Octavia screamed. She tried to push the tentacles away.

"It's really no use, Octavia, they're bonded for good. Didn't you say you wanted tentacles anyway?"

"Why would I want them!" yelled Octavia. Forgetting that she probably sounded crazy rambling in front of these scientists, she continued. "Why the hell would I want the freaky things? Why didn't you go put some on _Jordan_, she's the Doctor Octopus fangirl…"

"But she is merely a fangirl. You are more." Dr. Morrison took a tape recorder out of her pocket and pressed the play button. Octavia's words came back to sting her. Didn't they always say be careful what you wish for, you just might get it?

"…_you have to admit the idea of the four actuators is intriguing. I mean, they'd sure come in handy, outside the laboratory as well as in. I mean, the first thing I'd do if I had tentacles is to smack some intelligence into Brittany Gibson's head. Too bad it's only comic book fiction…"_

Dr. Morrison pressed the stop button. "It was hardwired into you from the beginning." She fast-forwarded the tape, then pressed the play button again.

"_I know—maybe your biological father is some kind of a criminal or supervillian. Your trench coat, your brown eyes hid by sunglasses, your passion for science, your jokes about taking over the world…"_

"Your friend—Jordan, is that her name?—the 'fangirl' as you called her, was more accurate than she thought. But not completely accurate."

"Explain!"

"Twelve years ago, I headed a scientific experiment named Project Octopus. I was a young psychologist, with big dreams and a bigger ego, trying to solve the famous nature versus nurture question. The question is thus: What has more influence on a child's life—genetics or environment? If a little boy grows up to be just like Dad, is it because he shares his father's genetic traits or because he grew up observing his father?

"You see, Octavia, there is a reason that you could not find any information on your birth parents. You have none. You have no mother. You have no father.

"You are a _clone_, Octavia. We took DNA from Doctor Octopus himself—your young friend's crush—and produced a perfect, female replica to be raised in a stable environment and answer the question. That replica was you."

"_What?_ Are you saying—_the only reason I exist is for some scientist's crazy experiment!_" Octavia was angry now.

Unperturbed, Dr. Morrison went on. "We marked you, Octavia, precisely so we could identify you to complete the realization of your identity. That octopus on your back is no birthmark. We tattooed it there to distinguish you.

"And about your back itching? It was a normal reaction, too. That was from the sophisticated system of extra neurons, stem cells and computer interface we built into your spine to accommodate the arms.

"Why did you—or Jordan, for that matter—not discover the similarities? Certainly, you've read enough of those half-truths called comic books. The messy brown hair, the brown eyes, the fondness for sunglasses and trench coats, the obsession and talent for scientific pursuits. After all, you are the exact genetic replica of him."

The truth hit Octavia like a block of adamantium. "So…you played God, created me…and then turned me into a freak just to complete your little Frankenstein's monster? Do my parents know about this? They'll have your head!"

As Octavia's anger mounted, the tentacles rose threateningly around Dr. Morrison.

"They fully know about your origin. They raised you as we told them to. Why do you think they wouldn't talk to you about your origins? Why do you think they wouldn't let you read the comic books?

"Of course, you'll get out of here once you're fully recovered. But we'll have to monitor you for the rest of your life. Your case study will finally put the nature versus nurture question to rest—"

"Be quiet!" Octavia yelled.

"You're gonna win me the Nobel Prize, Octavia, and—"

"_I said be quiet!_"

A tentacle, acting on Octavia's unconscious thoughts, grabbed Dr. Morrison by the throat and flung her right through the window. Mercifully, Grace died upon impact.

Another female scientist, this one with creamy skin, dirty blonde hair, and eyes the sparkling gray of tritium spoke up. Octavia did not know it, but this woman was her creator, the geneticist Dr. Nancy Melitta.

"Oh my gawd, girl…you _killed_ her!"

"Oh my gawd…I did!" responded Octavia, with a mixed feeling of astonishment and horror.


	7. Escaped From the Hospital

Chapter 7: Escaped From the Hospital

Octavia jumped out of the hospital bed. "Where are my clothes?"

Dr. Melitta actually seemed sympathetic. "But Octavia…you're not fully recovered from the surgery yet."

"I don't care!" screamed Octavia. "I'm not spending another minute in this hellhole!"

"But…don't you have anymore questions?"

"I've heard enough! All I am is your guinea pig in your little experiment! I'm a monster, a freak, someone who wasn't even supposed to exist!" The tentacles swirled around Nancy, preparing to do the same thing they did to Grace.

"Please," said Dr. Melitta. "I didn't do much—Grace, the one you killed, was my boss. I didn't know what I was getting into, and I'm sorry." The tentacles backed off. "I just want to help you."

"You can't," Octavia said. "No one can." She slowly put on her shirt, pants, sunglasses, and trench coat.

She walked over to the window, and wished she could break it open somehow. Obeying her wishes, the tentacles smashed through the window.

Octavia stepped out to the balcony, and then started climbing down, her pincers cracking the brick building as they bore her down.

Octavia, still dazed, stumbled out into the middle of the busy New York City street. A red-light running cabdriver screeched to a halt to avoid hitting her.

The cabbie stuck his head out the window and shouted at the young girl. "Where the hell are you going, you frickin' stupid broad! Are you blind, nuts or just stupid…aaahh!"

Those were the last words that particular cabdriver ever spoke. The tentacles shot out of Octavia's back, quickly flinging the cab a good quarter mile.

Octavia looked on in astonishment, and some measure of amusement. The tentacles were even more powerful than they were in the movie!

Peter Parker, also known as the superhero, town fixture, and crook (but only according to the _Daily Bugle_) Spider-man, was having lunch, _sans_ costume, in a café with his beloved wife Mary Jane. He resolved not to think about his superhero duties. This was his and his wife's anniversary, damn it, and he was going to enjoy himself.

Peter unconsciously grabbed the back of his neck. His spidey-sense was going off, big time. He ignored it. Whatever megalomaniac, insane, Spider-man hating supervillian was out there, he could wait. He was going to enjoy himself in the company of his wife.

But it's awful hard to enjoy yourself in a café when a taxi cab crashes _right through_ the window straight at your head. He pushed MJ out of the way. He swore this situation was familiar somehow. But _he_ couldn't be back, he was in jail again, wasn't he?

"MJ, I'm sorry," Peter said. "It's another _situation_, I'll make it up to you, I swear…"

"Don't worry, Peter," Mary Jane said. "I know you will."

Peter ducked into the men's room, changing into the red-and-blue. He swung out the skylight above. But where was he? If he was after him, he would already be right there, confronting him. So what the hell was he up to now?

Spider-man climbed out onto the roof. Down below him on the busy street, an eight-limbed figure was frozen in the middle of the busy street.

_What the hell is wrong with him?_ Peter thought. _On my anniversary, too. Pardon the pun, but this is _not_ what the doctor ordered._

Spider-man swung down to the street. "Ah, yes, Doctor Octopus, I keep taking you out, and you keep coming back for more…are you some kind of masochist, or what?"

Octavia turned and blinked at him. "What…what did you call me?"

Spidey gasped in astonishment. This person looked exactly like him…but this was a _female_!

"Why did you call me Doctor Octopus?" Octavia repeated.

"Well, you gotta admit, there is a _slight_ resemblance…" Spidey began. Here he was, talking to a possibly insane, possibly maniacal, definitely tentacled young woman in the middle of the street. He'd bet his pal Johnny Storm never had absurd moments like this. This was positively surreal.

"Don't you dare call me that!" The tentacles seized a completely unprepared Spider-man and flung him like a rag doll into the air.

"Oh boy oh boy oh boy…" Spidey was hurtling towards a skyscraper. "Well, here's hoping my arm stays in the socket." He shot web connecting to the wall of the building, and then…gravity took its course. He swung down and then slammed smack dab into the brick wall.

"That's going to jack up my bill at the chiropractor," he muttered, rubbing his shoulder. "This is just great. Now I have two octopuses to worry about."

Octavia was watching it all. She smirked as the bug went _splat_ on the wall. Overnight, she had become freakishly, ungodly powerful. And she _liked_ it.

Driving almost on instinct, the clone made her way towards Venice…


	8. Sought Refuge With an Old Flame

Thank you to all my reviewers! I am always grateful.

To K9: Too tired to sign in, eh? I've gone through that too. As for your question, you are partly right. Octavia's hometown is the fictional NYC suburb of Venice, NY. But I always name my fictional settings after the settings of Shakespeare's plays. For example, the hometown of Austin Smith, another of my original characters, is Elsinore, CA, which is named after the setting of _Hamlet._ Venice, Italy, the one you're thinking of, is the setting of _Othello_ and _The Merchant of Venice._

To Peteram: Ah, now there's the rub! That's presicely the question I wanted all my readers to think about! Glad you brought it up, that way you can read the rest of the story and decide for yourself.

To Moonjava: Thanks! I will.

To Crys Skywalker and LadyKayoss: It appears that the big question everyone is asking is: when is Doc Ock going to meet his clone? Be patient and keep reading!

Now, for the story! Read and review! Octavia seeks refuge with her sometime boyfriend, and before you ask, yes, he _is_ supposed to be similar to the original's wife. Meanwhile, Jordan finds herself on the wrong side of the government...

Chapter 8: Sought Refuge With an Old Flame

"_The subject has prematurely escaped."_

"_Are you tracking her movements?"_

"_Of course. She was last seen on Broadway, New York City."_

"_What was her reaction?"_

"_As expected. Anger, and surprise. She killed Dr. Morrison."_

"_We will have to recover her case study files on Octavia. This project cannot be terminated. Not even for the death of the scientist in charge."_

"_One could almost say Grace was a Faustian overreacher. She tried to play God for her own benefit, and it went horribly wrong, and that resulted in her demise."_

"_What?"_

"_You've never read Christopher Marlowe's _Doctor Faustus_, have you? Or _Frankenstein_." _

"_What have you learned by observing her at school?"_

"_She was familiar with him. Her friend was obsessed with him. But comic books—they only tell half the story."_

"_The friend who witnessed the capture?"_

"_Yes. Jordan Nicholas."_

"_You'll have to pay her plenty of hush money."_

"_Yes."_

"_Any notable events since her escape?"_

"_She killed a cabdriver by flinging his cab through the window. And she attacked Spider-man."_

"_She's still operating on adrenaline. She's in fight or flight mode. Let's see what she does when she calms down. And get that hush money withdrawn."_

"_Of course."_

_The tall, slender, black-haired man sometimes called Carlyle left the room._

Octavia hid the tentacles inside her coat and stepped to the front door of David Rose's apartment.

They had met when David's cousin Jordan set them up on a blind date. They were completely opposite: he was a shy poet and writer, she was an introverted science geek. However, they had chemistry. They hit it off. But he was 18, she was 13. Her mother and father had disapproved of the difference in their ages, and they were only boyfriend and girlfriend for six months.

However, she loved him dearly, and she knew he loved her as well. If anyone could accept her in this predicament besides Jordan, it was Dave.

There was a steady downpour of rain. She rang the doorbell.

David Rose opened the door. "Octavia! What are you doing here?"

"I have…to sit down," she mumbled. She stumbled into the room and flopped onto the couch.

"Here," said David. "Let me get your coat."

"No! No…don't take it off," she said, batting his hand away.

"What happened?" David asked.

"I killed the doctor…and then I killed the cabbie…and I attacked the bug…" she mumbled incoherently.

"Wait, slow down. Are you on the run from the law? Who did you kill?"

"I didn't kill them, _they_ did…"

"They? Who are they?" David asked. "Let me get you something to eat and drink. You look famished." He went into the kitchen, grabbing a skillet, butter, bread, pepperoni, and cheese.

"_Did you get that hush money?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Are you continuing the surveillance?"_

"_Of course. We have found her at a Brooklyn apartment belonging to a nineteen-year-old David Rose. English literature major at Empire State University. He was her significant other for around six months. Strange how a poet and a science geek can fall in love."_

"_The original's wife was named Rosie. And she was a poet. What a coincidence. What does the probability computer say as to what she will do next?"_

"_She will run. Her boyfriend will reject her. He will now see her as a freak, a half-mechanical monster, an eight-limbed Frankenstein's creature. Her deformity gives her great power—and at the same time ensures she will never be accepted by a society built on appearances."_

"_Where will she go to next?"_

"_The next name that pops up is Jordan Nicholas. Probability 75 percent she will head there next. When, is only a matter of time."_

"_Good. Just get there first."_

_Carlyle shook hands with the new scientist in charge, and walked out of the office, making sure the envelope was still in his pocket._

Jordan Nicholas opened the door. A tall, slender, black haired man stood in the doorway. He handed her a business card saying _Oliver Osnick, Government Adjustments_.

"What the hell do you want?" Jordan asked.

The man calling himself Osnick (and had once called himself Carlyle) reached into his coat, pulling out a check for eighty thousand dollars.

"I don't want your hush money," Jordan snapped. "Get out of here."

"I think you had better listen to me before you take any action you may regret later, Miss Nicholas," Osnick said calmly and quietly.

Osnick carried a briefcase with him. He pulled out a folder with the names _Nicholas_ and _Breedlove_ written on the tab. Jordan's eyes widened. Breedlove was her mother's maiden name. And no one likes to see a government folder with the names of your family on it. There is something unnerving and Orwellian about the idea that your government has been keeping tabs on you.

Osnick talked for around an hour, occasionally showing Jordan papers from the folder.

"We are in a national security situation, pertaining to a top-secret scientific experiment," said Osnick. "You must realize that, young lady. We don't enjoy doing this, but the simple fact is that you must be made to see reason. The matter of Octavia Jones is a matter which you know very little about."

"I know you shot and kidnapped an unarmed high school student, who is my best friend. She may be missing or even dead by now. I never thought that Orwell's ideas about Big Brother were right."

Osnick smiled coldly, as if talking to someone tragically ignorant of how hard the government works to protect its charges. "My job is not to debate that fact but to convince you not to talk about it. You don't know what you saw or what it means. Young lady, this needn't be so painful. The check is tax-free. It will easily pay your way through college, with money to spare. Buy yourself some designer jeans besides." He looked at the girl—yet another dumb blonde, he thought. "And a good deal of unpleasantness will be avoid—get my drift?"

Jordan looked at him coldly as Osnick showed her the papers.

A cousin on her father's side, Alfred Manders, had a nice little pot garden in his backyard in Nevada. One of her aunts, Miranda Breedlove-Molina, was up to her eyebrows in debt and shaky business ventures; one touch of the government's finger would send her financial house of cards tumbling and make her bankrupt, unable to support her four kids. Jordan's Uncle Drew, on her father's side, was in the Earth Liberation Front in college and was suspected of being involved in a plot to firebomb a McDonald's. Drew had told his brother, Jordan's dad, that once he got wind of what was going on, he'd quit the group, horrified. But a copy of the file forwarded to his boss would most likely lose him his job.

Osnick saved the best for last. Jordan's aunt Marina had married a Muslim, Abdul Mohammed Rahim, who had made very large donations to very questionable Islamic charities. One tip from the government would send him and most likely Aunt Marina as well, straight to Guantanamo for financing terrorism. Muslims were not loved in America since September 11th.

Osnick shut up. He sat back in the chair with the briefcase on his lap, smiling like he was a good student who has just given a winning class presentation.

_What do I do?_ Jordan wondered, frowning. _If I stand up to this sanctimonious pecker-head and tell him to go get bent, what will happen? Do I send Cousin Fred, Uncle Drew, Aunt Marina, and Uncle Abdul postcards saying that they're in jail because my best friend was kidnapped by government agents? What do I do?_

But Jordan's confusion was soon replaced by anger. She thought there were laws against this kind of thing. These laws were mostly found in an obscure little document called the United States Constitution. They shot and kidnapped her best friend, and now they were trying to pay her off to keep quiet about something that had Orwellian Big Brother written all over it. Octavia wouldn't want her to keep quiet about whatever horrible fate they'd subjected her to.

Jordan smiled and reached for the check. "I'll take that."

Osnick smiled and handed her the check. "Good girl. I knew you were an intelligent, reasonable girl."

But to Osnick's utter bewilderment, Jordan tore the check in two.

"Now stick this where the sun don't shine, and get the hell out of my family's house."

"_Did you give her the hush money?"_

"_Yes. Then she tore the check up and told me to…well, 'stick it where the sun don't shine' as she put it."_

"_She rejected the hush money?" the scientist in charge asked. There was a trace of anger in the director's voice. "This will complicate things."_

"_Most definitely."_

"_Where is the clone?"_

"_Still at the Rose apartment. The computer's assessment still holds true. She will run."_

"_When?"_

"_Even the computer cannot say."_

David brought out the sandwiches and a small bowl of pizza sauce. "Pepperoni and grilled cheese sandwiches…and some pizza sauce to dip them in," he said. "You used to love these when we were dating."

Octavia took her sandwich and ate numbly.

"Now, who are 'they'?Who killed those people?" David asked.

"Please…don't put me through this."

"I won't be mad. I won't do anything. I'll always love you," David said. "I promise. No matter what you did."

"They put these horrible things on me…" Octavia mumbled.

"What?"

Octavia unbuttoned her coat and took it off, revealing four huge, metal, snakelike tentacles attached to her back. They reared up, curving up and over the girl.

"Don't be scared…"

But David was. He let out a scream.

"Oh my gawd, what are those things? Are those tentacles? Have I been dating a monster!"

"No, you haven't been dating a monster! I'm still the same Octavia Jones!" She grabbed at David's shirt with a tentacle, but David jerked away. "Get those things _off_ me, you little freak!"

"But David, you said you'd always love me, you _promised_!"

"Get out of my house!" David yelled. "I'm not having tentacled maniacs in my apartment, I'm not putting myself in danger because of you!"

Octavia found herself running out of the apartment.

Was this what it was like being Doctor Octopus? To be hated and feared because of your appearance?

Underneath her sunglasses, she was crying. Underneath her trench coat, her heart was breaking

She was alone again.

"_The clone has run."_


	9. Revealed the Secret

Thank you to the reviewers:

To K9: That's right. Although I wouldn't, most people would be scared to death if someone wearing four honking tentacles out their back burst into their room .

To Crys Skywalker: As you will see, the experiment that created Octavia reaches far beyond Grace Morrison. It is in "the man's" best interests to keep her monitored. Come to think of it, I still can't see how a wrestling fanwriter heard of my Spider-man story...

To Moonjava: Thanks.

To Pheonix Master: Thank you, I am!

On to the story! And remember, read and review! And check out the next installment of the Austin series, "The Children of Six." You know who you are.

Chapter 9: Revealed the Secret

"_Where is the clone heading next?"_

"_The first name on the computer is still Jordan Nicholas, at 80 percent. The next name is Daisy Gatsby, another friend from school, at 60 percent. Last on the list are the so-called parents, at 37 percent."_

"_Now about Jordan Nicholas. Now that she has rejected the hush money, it is possible that she may try and take her story somewhere."_

"_The press?"_

"_Yes."_

"_The computer is monitoring the AP tickers. There is nothing."_

"_We can't watch all the press outlets, you know. What if she decides to go to the _Podunk Times _rather than the _New York Times_?"_

"_Don't worry, I have ways of shutting people up."_

"_Good."_

"_Who would believe her anyway? No one believed that that Clonaid company produced a clone a few years ago. They certainly won't believe that their very own government cloned a supervillian."_

"_Dr. Morrison was only interested in the psychological effects. However, _we_ certainly seem to recognize the value of artificially intelligent, super-strong extra arms in the context of a war zone."_

"_Yes. The tentacles would be invaluable in the war on terror, wouldn't they?"_

"_What will the clone do next?"_

"_She will probably be rejected in the same way she was by the boyfriend. Then, she will grow angry once more, and try to confront those whom she feels are responsible for her predicament."_

"_The original subject?"_

"_Possibly."_

"_Now. I want the clone brought here, alive, for further testing. And I want the witness in here, dead as a dodo with a tag on her toe. Understand?"_

_The tall, slender, black-haired man fingered his handgun before walking out the door._

Jordan Nicholas thought on what to do next. Her own United States government, which she thought was the freest and most just in the world, had just blackmailed her to keep quiet after they had kidnapped and possibly killed her best friend.

"Jordan? What's wrong?"

Her father poked his head into her room. He was the only family she had left. When she was seven, her parents divorced. Her family was split in half: her father got full custody of her, while her younger brother Morgan was sent to live with her mother in New Jersey. Daisy had once asked her why her brother was named Morgan. Jordan had replied that Morgan Freeman was her mother's favorite movie actor, and that was whom she named her son after. Daisy had then joked that Jordan should "take a leaf out of her mother's book" and name her son Alfred. Then Octavia had laughed and said…

No. Thinking about Ock was too painful.

"Still thinking about your friend?" Her father held a copy of the _National Enquirer_. "I know something's fishy too. A girl is kidnapped a week ago, and there's been no Amber Alerts, no news stories, no nothing. Something's rotten in the state of Denmark…"

Jordan then had an idea. She took her dad's tabloid. Then she picked up the phone.

"Hello, _National Enquirer_? My name is Jordan Nicholas, and I've got a news story for you…no, it's not about Paris Hilton. No, it's not about Scott Peterson. No, it's not about Brad Pitt. It's about illegal, unethical scientific experiments, kidnapping, conspiracy, and blackmail, all by the very government we all think we trust…"

"_Do you have the coordinates?"_

"_The clone is heading towards the residence of Daisy Gatsby and family…"_

Daisy Gatsby responded to the insistent knocking on her door.

Octavia Jones was standing there, looking frail and thin underneath her trademark brown trench coat. And even her sunglasses could not hide her strangely sunken brown eyes.

"Oh my god!" Daisy exclaimed. "Octavia…oh, Jordan told me what happened and she thought you were dead…"

"You don't know the half of it," Octavia said. She stumbled over to the couch.

"Need something to eat? I've got cookies," offered Daisy.

"Yeah, thanks." Octavia accepted the warm chocolate chip cookies.

Daisy pulled out a comic book. "Jordan told me to give you this, you bought it for her…"

Octavia took the book; it was the Year One collection she had given Jordan for her birthday, after buying it for herself. But this time, the memories it evoked were unbearable.

"No!" she screamed, pushing the book away.

"What's wrong with you?" asked Daisy. "Who kidnapped you? And what did they do to you?"

"I can't say."

"Did they torture you?" asked Daisy. "Cause Jordan's been telling me up and down that CIA agents from the US Government kidnapped you and tried to bribe her to keep quiet about it…"

"Yeah, government agents," Octavia muttered. "They…did something to me…"

"What?" asked Daisy, half-concernedly and half-eagerly.

"You wouldn't want to see what they did to me. Believe me."

"_Octavia_," said Daisy, "The three of us—Jordan and you and me—have been best pals, since, like, preschool. You can trust me. _I promise_."

"Really?" asked Octavia. "You'd want to see me with these?" She unbuttoned her coat, revealing the tentacles.

Daisy stared at the metal snakes, each with razor-sharp pincers opened to reveal four bright pink lights. She began to scream.

"Wait, let me explain!" asked Octavia.

Daisy gasped for breath. "Sure, sure. You just freaked me out a bit. What's the story here?"

And Octavia told her the whole story.

"Whoa whoa whoa. You are trying to tell me that you were kidnapped by CIA agents and delivered to some scientists who grafted the tentacles on you and told you that you were Doctor Octopus' _clone_?"

"That's the general idea, Daisy."

Daisy then burst into laughter. "Oh my god, this is some joke, right? You and Jordan are in this together cause you decided to make up some tentacles, and it went wrong and they got _fused_ to you, or whatever, and now you and Jordan are coming up with a cock-and-bull story about secret agents and clones." She turned away and pointed toward the door. "Seriously, you and Jordan both need serious help. I've put up with the Doctor Octopus mania for long enough. And don't forget your coat."


	10. Confronted the Original

I'm only going to say this once: I still don't own Doc Ock, Spider-Man, or any other Marvel character. I'm also pretty sure no money isn't being made off my stories. If there was, I wouldn't have to beg and plead with my parents to get the twelve dollars I need for that Spectacular Spider-Man "Countdown" collection I want from the B Dalton's. However, Octavia, Carlyle, Daisy, and Jordan are mine!

Over to the reviewers, shall we?

To K9: Well, as my father says, denial is _not_ a river in Egypt!

To Pheonix Master: Hey, you'd have a hard time believing that your best friend was a clone at first, too.

To Crys Skywalker: Yes, there are variables the computer cannot predict. This will become evident in the following chapters...

To Yuna: Of course I take you seriously. I take all my reviewers seriously, even my critics. You have raised a valid andexcellent point in your review. But as someone said(I think it was Yogi Berra), it ain't over until it's over, and this story ain't over yet. Still, I can't imagine what kind of power a dimunitive Northern California college student who likes to write might have...

Now, to the story! As you can see by the chapter title below, this is the moment you've all been waiting for. Remember, whether old or new, read and review!

Chapter 10: Confronted the Original

"_The clone has left the Gatsby residence."_

"_Let me guess: she will go to the witness next?"_

"_Jordan Nicholas is still first on the list."_

"_Where are the clone's current coordinates?"_

"_She is still in the New York City area. Making her way downtown, north of the Venice suburb."_

"_Good. Let's keep watching her. As soon as she relaxes her guard, we bring her in for further testing. I want to see what those actuators can do."_

"_Wait! I just got a reading off the computer! Jordan Nicholas has placed a call to the _National Enquirer_." _

"_The _Enquirer_! That rag isn't worthy to be used for toilet paper."_

"_I may have underestimated Jordan's intelligence. She must have realized that any mainstream media outlet would be watched."_

"_Underestimated? For God's sakes, she's a high school student, not Superwoman."_

"_At any rate, if Nicholas blows the operation wide open, I'm never telling another dumb blonde joke again."_

"_She won't get the chance. I want Jordan Nicholas _disposed of_, do you hear?"_

Jordan was walking to school with Daisy. She was taking a different route now; walking her old route reminded her too much of Octavia.

"I know she must be dead by now," Jordan whispered. "But in my heart I know she's still alive…somehow. What do you think, Daisy?"

Daisy's reply was icy. She felt guilty for turning Octavia out. "She's still alive…somewhere. Maybe she escaped from those government agents and is out there, wandering, lost and alone."

Jordan stopped to stare at her friend. "And you know this _how_?"

Daisy burst into tears. "They _did something_ to her, _changed_ her…"

"Changed her how…ahhh!" Jordan shrieked.

A black car sped up the street until it was nearly parallel to Jordan and Daisy. The window rolled down, slightly. A handgun poked out the window, fired two shots.

Jordan fell to the ground, clutching her chest. She was bleeding profusely. "Daisy…did they kill me?"

"No, Jordan, don't die on me now!" Daisy shouted. "We have to find Octavia together, because you were right all along…"

Daisy dialed 911 on her cell phone.

_The Director banged a fist on the slick black desk. "Damn your incompetence! Not only did you leave Nicholas alive to be taken to the hospital, but now we have another witness!"_

"_I assure you, I will not miss next time."_

"_One death we can cover up. The deaths of two perfectly healthy teenage girls are much harder. Any more witnesses, and we'll be up shit creek without the paddle!"_

"_Yes."_

"_Bring me the two girls dead, and the clone alive. Or you're going to find yourself unemployed. They told me you were one of the best agents around. You are a disappointment."_

Octavia spotted a street vendor. Her stomach was growling. Those grilled cheese sandwiches and chocolate chip cookies seemed ages ago. She dug into her pocket, looking for some money. But what she found wasn't change.

It was a shiny round piece of metal, with a red light steadily blinking. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good. She sent a mental command to a tentacle to crush it. The tentacle obliged. The tracking chip shattered in pieces.

Octavia looked up at the skyscraper. This was the headquarters of the leading (albeit Spider-man hating) tabloid _The Daily Bugle_. Like Jordan, she felt she had to tell someone…set the record straight somehow.

Octavia walked into the front door. At the receptionist's desk, a small brunette woman was eating a king size Twix bar and drinking a cherry soda.

"Breakfast of champions, huh?" Octavia greeted.

"And what would a scruffy looking little girl such as yourself want?" The receptionist looked up from her Twix bar.

"I'd like to see the publisher, J. Jonah Jameson."

The receptionist laughed. "Triple J's been dead for a year. Probably gave himself a heart attack or ulcer or something."

"So who's in charge now?" Octavia asked. "Who's the big kahuna?"

"Triple J's daughter, Janice Jameson, is the big boss now. Wish she'd gone into her brother's business. At least then she'd be ranting in orbit."

"Can I see her?"

"You got an appointment?"

Octavia scowled. "I believe these four made the appointment for me." The tentacles shot out of her back, the upper left popping open to reveal an eighteen-inch blade.

The receptionist fainted. Octavia let herself in.

"_Where is the clone now?"_

"_The computer is unable to transmit a location."_

"_What! That can only mean the tracking chip was destroyed."_

"_Right. But that isn't the only means of tracking her. I can plug into every security camera, every phone line, every surveillance system, every computer in New York City."_

"_Then do so!"_

Octavia looked at the nameplate on the door that read _Janice Jean Jameson_.

The aforementioned Miss Jameson, with all the brunette good looks of her brother John and all the attitude of her father, turned around and looked at her. "Who the hell are you? And what are you doing here?"

"My name is Octavia Jones," she said, "and I have a great story idea."

Janice's face lit up. "Is it about how Spider-man's a crook?"

"No, you've hashed that up a million times. But it is about a wide-ranging conspiracy, by our own government, to participate in an unethical experiment in which one of the most infamous supervillians of all time was cloned."

Janice mulled this over a bit. "Cloned supervillians? Government conspiracies? That's almost as good a story idea. Now, tell me everything."

"_Where's the clone?"_

"_I'm sorry…it takes the computer a while to set up the monitoring process! It could take as long as two hours."_

"_Well, hurry up. The clone could do anything in two hours."_

Janice began chuckling. "So you're claiming you're the clone of Doctor Octopus? I'm sorry, you've got something going there, but it's going to take more than a birthmark, trench coat, and a set of tentacles to convince me."

"What convinces me that Spider-man's a crook?"

"Look, honey, I'm not saying I don't believe you. But I'm a _responsible journalist_, you know, and I need _evidence_."

"Then perhaps you could tell me where the original Octopus is."

Janice chuckled again. And then she gave Octavia the address.

"_Systems are up."_

"_And the clone?"_

"_Heading for the Asylum."_

"_The prison for the criminally insane?"_

"_Precisely."_

Doctor Otto Octavius, Octopus no more, reclined on his bed, sketching and writing formulas in a thin green notebook. After his latest crime, he had been arrested and sent to the Asylum, the prison for the criminally insane. When he had first arrived, surgeons had forcibly removed his actuators and put them who knows where, probably to study. He now was only left with one long scar down his spine and an aching loneliness inside his head, an empty space where the four other voices had been.

He had been diagnosed by the shrinks with paranoid schizophrenia. The shrink had told him that he had delusions of grandeur, jealousy, and persecution (the latter by a certain spider-powered hero, of course); and that the voices of his tentacles were merely auditory hallucinations, actually unrealized, unconscious desires of his own mind.

Heh heh. He would show them. The doctors did not know that even though the tentacles were no longer attached, he could still control them. And he could still feel them in his mind. Or his "children" would come looking for him. At any rate, he was going to break out very, very soon.

The doctor's scheming was soon interrupted by the screech of his door being torn off the hinges.

Octavius blinked. A young girl, probably no more than thirteen or fourteen, was standing outside his door. She was wearing a brown trench coat, and she looked _exactly_ like him.

The tentacles shot out of Octavia's back. "It's your fault," she said.

"Who are you?" Octavius asked.

"Don't you recognize me?" she asked, stepping closer. "I am _you_."

"What the hell do you mean?"

"You gave your DNA to them, didn't you?" Octavia whispered. "You wanted another one of you to carry on your criminal work, didn't you? You had yourself cloned…"

"I d-don't know what you're talking about…" Octavius muttered. And for the first time, he saw himself as others saw him.

Octavia's tentacle blade sprang open, preparing to make the mad scientist into calamari shish kebab. However, the doctor would live to see another day. His fright was enough for his own tentacles to break out of their basement storage container.

"_What's going on with the clone? Where is she?"_

"_The computer indicates she's at the Asylum room 808."_

"_What is the significance of this?"_

"_Room 808 is occupied by the original subject."_

"_Oh shit." The Director began to pace up and down the office._

Octavius, still sitting on his bed, was amusedly watching Octavia struggling with his own set, who had jumped on her, defending their "father". Octavia, in desperation, smashed through the window. She'd had enough.

"If you're going to wear the tentacles, you might as well use them right," Octavius advised. "Meanwhile, I should thank you, young lady—for giving me the means to escape…" The doctor pulled up his shirt, clenching his fists as the tentacles reattached themselves to his back.

Doctor Octopus was back. And he was out the window.

And Octavia knew that this man was not a worthy one to obsess over.

"_Both the original subject and the clone have left the hospital."_


	11. Stalked and Captured

On to the reviewers!

To K9: Well, what _did_ you expect?

To Cris Skywalker, LadyKayoss, and Pheonix Master: Keep reading, keep reading.

On to the story! Whether old or new, read and review!

Chapter 11: Stalked and Captured

"_We need to get that clone in for further testing _now_! Where is she?"_

"_Systems register her at Central Park."_

"_For God's sake, get the clone recaptured now. I don't care if you have to send fifty agents swarming Central Park, just do it." The Director's voice was angry, tense. _

"_But Madam Director…the clone is still emotionally unstable!"_

"_How am I going to go in front of the Science and Technology Department and get funding if you don't bring the clone in for further testing? The Pentagon is certainly impatient to get their hands on some more of those actuators."_

"_Yes, I'm right on it."_

"_And the two witnesses. I want them captured as well."_

"_I thought you wanted them disposed of."_

"_Not until we can put together an accurate psychological case study on the clone. Dr. Bowman never fails to remind me that he wants his colleague's psychological work finished and he has some pretty powerful friends."_

"_Wait…he was Grace Morrison's boss?"_

"_Yes. Then after we get through with them, you dispose of them. Understood? I want the three girls here within twenty-four hours. You've made enough mistakes with this project…don't screw up this time."_

Octavia shivered on the Central Park bench. Her one lifeline left was Jordan…and she wasn't answering her cell phone.

Her tentacles knew she was sad and cold, and they tried to help her. They curled up about her, trying to shield her from the bitter cold. T.S. Eliot had once said that April is the cruelest month…and the poet knew what he was talking about.

But the ice-cold metal only made things worse. Octavia shivered, and began to sob. "They're right…I am a freak. Just a copy, a replica, a clone…"

One tentacle reached up with its pincer and wiped the tear away. The other tentacles examined the strange clear liquid, undoubtedly wondering why humans produced salt water from their eyes. Then the tentacle curled around her shoulder.

"Aw, that was so sweet of you…" Octavia said. Then she blinked. "Wait…I must be going nuts. I'm talking to inanimate objects."

Rosalie Andrews and Harris Belcher were two high school students, young and in love. They had chosen Central Park for their midnight rendezvous, to take a romantic hand-in-hand walk, and maybe something more.

They were sitting on a park bench making out when a voice behind him snapped, "Get a room!"

"Hey mind your own business…aah!" Harris turned around to see a tall, slender, black haired, black-suited man pointing a gun at him.

"Okay, okay, I'll give you all my money, just leave us alone!"

"Put your wallet away," snapped the man, flashing a CIA identification card. "Have you seen a brown haired girl wearing sunglasses and a brown trench coat here?"

"Uh, yeah," remembered Rosalie. "Down that way. Kinda creepy…kept talking to herself, that one."

The man left in that direction, without saying thank you.

"_Coordinates of the clone confirmed. Moving in now…"_

"_Be sure to disable the arms before you capture her. Unless you want to go the way of Grace Morrison, that is."_

Octavia's eyes popped open. The black suits again. And even more of them, there must have been at least ten.

"What do you want? Can't you leave a girl alone?"

Carlyle grinned evilly down at her. "Let's get this straight. _We_ funded your creation. You're not even technically a person; you're a clone of another criminal freak that shouldn't be on this planet, and the subject of our experiment. You're our property, Octavia, and we've come to take our property back."

"No," said Octavia. She needed her tentacles to defend her now, but for some reason they just lay impotently at her side.

Carlyle twirled a remote control device, as if taunting her with the fact that she was helpless without the tentacles and he had the power to make them useless.

"_The clone is on her way here. She is closely guarded, of course."_

"_And the witnesses?"_

"_Computer shows them at St. Isidore's Hospital at Venice, New York. Units on their way."_

Jordan Nicholas was in a wheelchair, and she was still extensively bandaged, but she was grinning ear to ear, as was Daisy.

"Everything is in good order," said the nurse. "You'll still need to take it easy, no school for another couple of weeks, if those bullets were an inch either way, you'd be dead."

"But a couple of bullets aren't going to stop my pal Jordan," boasted Daisy.

Jordan leaned over to her friend and whispered.

"Of course we'll find Octavia," whispered Daisy. "But you have to go home and rest."

"Ah," said the nurse, "there's a man over at the lobby who signed your discharge papers. He's a friend of your father's—his name is Terrence Trainer."

Mr. Trainer looked at the two girls. "Hello, Daisy and Jordan."

Jordan again looked on the face of the man who had once tried to pay her off.

"No! No! I won't go with you! You're trying to kidnap me…and I don't know you!" Jordan screamed.

"Pardon me, ma'am," said Trainer. "She might be still traumatized from the accident. "She might be delusional."

The nurse nodded. "That she is. She's been screaming up and down about conspiracies, government agents, supervillians, and whatnot."

Carlyle (Osnick? Trainer? impossible to tell) grabbed Jordan and Daisy by the arms and dragged them outside. He smiled wickedly at them. "I know where your little friend Octavia is. And if you don't want her _hurt_, you'd better cooperate."

"_The clone and both witnesses are on the premises."_

"_Good. Many people will be pleased. Prepare the tests."_


	12. Makes the Final Confrontation

Ah...have we reached the end of "Nature Versus Nurture" already? (sniff) For some reason, the regular readers of this story include a Teen Titans and Lilo and Stitch fan, a wrestling fanwriter, and an anime reader as well as the usual Spider-fans and Ottophiles. Well, after this, there will only be the epilougue left...so read it while you can, folks! Then, check out "The Children of the Six"!

Chapter 12: Makes the Final Confrontation

_Some say the world will end in fire,  
Some say in ice.  
From what I've tasted of desire,  
I hold with those who favor fire.  
But if it had to perish twice,  
I think I know enough of hate  
To say that for destruction ice  
Is also great  
And would suffice._

Robert Frost, "Fire and Ice"

Octavia woke up. She was leaning against the wall of a stark white room, her tentacles bound to the walls like a snow angel's outstretched wings. She wore a short white hospital gown. She struggled fruitlessly for a few minutes, and then sank down on the floor.

Jordan woke up. She was strapped to a table, arms outstretched and strapped to the two extensions. Electrodes were affixed to her head. Carlyle held a remote control.

Jordan was frightened to death. When she was two years old, she was struck by lightning and nearly died. Her great fear was being electrocuted to death. The government knew this about her. She was strongly reminded of Winston Smith's torture by rats in George Orwell's _1984_.

"Are you going to talk? If you give us the information we need, you can see her friend. And if you refuse again, there will be more—_unpleasantness_."

"This is cruel and unusual punishment," Jordan said. "You people are sick. I'm sure the Constitution doesn't allow this."

"You'll be surprised what's allowed, Jordan Nicholas." Carlyle pressed the button on the control.

Shock waves of pain rippled through Jordan's body. Jordan's breathing was fast and heavy. She was on the verge of screaming.

"Need I remind you that the dials are only on twenty—and I can turn it much higher?"

"What do you want?" asked Jordan. "You already have Octavia, you told me that."

"We just want to know her personality, her history. What and how she does at school. Is it really that hard? I say two words and you tell me every single thing you know about those two words. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"The two words are: Octavia Jones. Go."

And Jordan told him.

"_Daisy has given up her information. Jordan, however, was much harder to crack. But we got to her."_

"_Good. Let them see her. Let them see what a little freak their friend really is."_

"_As soon as we run some tests on the clone."_

Carlyle walked in the stark white room. He began unlocking the tentacles.

"You promised me I'd be able to see my friends." Octavia hissed.

"That's right, you will. We'd just like to run some tests."

Finally, two hours later, Jordan, Daisy, and Octavia were thrust into a room together.

"Hi," Octavia said.

"Hi," Jordan said.

And gradually, weakly, ramblingly, both the girls' stories came out. And Octavia showed Jordan the actuators.

"Oh my god!" Jordan said. "That's so cool!"

Octavia blinked. "You don't…think of me as a freak?"

"Of course not, you're my best friend!" reassured Jordan. "In fact, I'm _jealous _of you!"

"As you can see, she's still the same Octopus fan-girl as ever," Daisy groaned.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Jordan grinned. "Let's ditch this joint."

"How?" asked Daisy. "There must be 'men in black' all over the place."

"My brother gave me some of this practical joke powder when I visited my mother last," Jordan laughed. "I planned on slipping it to Brittany Gibson, but then we got kidnapped."

"No," said Octavia. "You two escape. You don't have a part in this."

"You're staying behind?" Jordan gasped.

"I can't run anymore," said Octavia. "I have to make sure no one goes through what we have. _They have to pay_. Goodbye, friends."

"Don't say goodbye," said Jordan. "Good luck."

"_The two witnesses are severely ill with cramps and vomiting, Director."_

"_Well, send a doctor in, you idiot."_

"_We can't _find_ one."_

"_So get them to the hospital. We can't lose the information they still have."_

"_They've given up all their information. We should just dispose of them."_

"_We suspect the girls, especially Jordan, are holding back. Let's not kill the goose that lays golden eggs."_

Carlyle held the remote control device. "Now, Octavia, let's go back to your room like a good girl, okay?"

But before he could push the button, a tentacle grabbed it out of his hand—and crushed it. Carlyle's eyes widened. That blocking device, of course, was his only defense against her.

"Now, Mr. Carlyle—or whatever you call yourself now—" Octavia hissed, "take me to your leader."

As soon as the doors to the girls' rooms were opened, Jordan and Daisy ran out through the hall.

"I thought we were going to wait until we got in the _ambulance_ to run off," said Daisy.

"I just realized what Octavia meant when she said that," Jordan said. "She's about to make a terrible mistake."

Octavia simultaneously grabbed Carlyle and the Director, tentacles wrapping about each of them like steel and magenta boa constrictors. A third popped open to reveal an eighteen-inch blade.

Octavia squeezed them tighter and tighter, viciously smirking as the two agents gasped for breath. She _wanted_ to hurt them, cause them all the pain she had to bear—and more for the pain of her friends.

Jordan burst through the door. "Octavia, stop!"

Octavia turned to her friend. "Why can't I, Jordan? _Why can't I?_ These are the two people who kidnapped us, turned me into a freak, tortured us, and tried to bribe you to shut up about it!"

"Octavia…if you do this…" Jordan finally said, "you're really no better than they are."

"You said you wanted an identity separate from the one you were cloned from," pleaded Daisy. "_He_ did things like that, not you."

"You know the answer to the famous nature versus nurture question, Octavia?" asked Jordan. "There's really none. It's _both_. Sure your genetics are a part of you, but so is your upbringing. But most of all it's about free will and your choices. Do you understand that?"

"Yes…"

"Choose to do the right thing."

Octavia knew. She was not a criminal. She was not a supervillian. She was not Doctor Octopus.

So she let them go.

Carlyle turned and drew his gun. "You really should have killed me when you got the chance, you little monster," he said. But it was then that Jordan's cell phone rang.

"Really? It was?" Jordan said. "That's the best news I've ever got in a long while." She hung up the phone and smiled.

"See? Even if you decide to kill us now, _you lose_."


	13. Epilogue: Aftermath of the Great Experim...

To my reviewers: Wait! Don't leave yet! There's still the epilogue!

Epilogue: Aftermath of the Great Experiment

_I tried to fathom nature's laws  
from twirling models and schoolroom sketches  
of molecules and parts of atoms,  
and nearly believed — but then came quarks,  
bosons, leptons, antiparticles,  
opposite-turning mirror images,  
some that perforate the earth,  
never swerving from their certain paths.  
I've listened to conflicting views  
about the grand and lesser worlds:  
a big bang where it all began;  
of curved, ever-expanding space;  
perhaps tremendous whirling yo-yos  
that will someday reach the end  
of cosmic gravity and then  
fly back to where they can restart  
or cataclysmically blow apart —  
and then, and then the next event.  
And will it be an accident?_

Jimmy Carter, "A Contemplation of What Has Been Created, and Why"

You see, Jordan's story idea had reached the _National Enquirer_, and they launched a full investigation. The government had tried to silence the story, citing national security, but the _Enquirer_ cited First Amendment rights to free press. After a nearly two-week Supreme Court battle, the headline in this week's _Enquirer_ screamed, "Can We Trust Our Government Again? Your tax dollars are paying for government conspiracies and unethical experiments…" Janice Jameson, always eager to cash in on hot rumors and panic in the streets, also published her interview with Octavia, with the headline reading, "I Was a Supervillian's Clone: The subject of corrupt government experiment speaks to the Bugle!"

Of course, the news stories were just the finger that knocked the whole line of dominoes down. The public uproar was such that a congressional hearing was immediately called. The Director, revealed to be a prominent New York Democrat senator and former First Lady, and Carlyle, were impeached, fired from their posts, and arrested. The psychologist Grace Morrison worked for, Dr. Edward Bowman, and Dr. Nancy Melitta, had both been fired and all but barred from practicing in the mainstream scientific community forever. However, Nancy Melitta maintained she did not know what was "going on behind her back" and was acting under orders. A good number of the CIA and Pentagon were fired. Congress passed a bill prohibiting human reproductive cloning, which the President promptly signed. And, rather unfortunately, Joe and Jane Jones were arrested for their part.

A memo soon landed on the desk of the new Director of the Department of Science and Technology. It simply read:

_Project Octopus has failed. Effective immediately, this project is hereby terminated. Surveillance of the subjects will be discontinued._

Which brings us to: what of the subject?

Octavia went to live with Jordan, whose dad gladly took her in. She began catching up on the schoolwork she missed. Jordan offered to set Octavia up on a blind date with David's older brother, Harrison Rose, a poetry and literature enthusiast.

Finally, the time came when she had to give her oral report on the English assignment she so dreaded. Hiding her tentacles behind her coat, she stepped up to the front of the room.

"I was born in Venice, New York," Octavia said. "My father is a lawyer and my mother is a housewife. I was adopted by them, and my birthparents are either dead or do not want to be found. My great goal in life is to become a physicist and win the Nobel Prize…"

After she had finished, Brittany smirked at her. Her report had made her sound so much more interesting.

Jordan and Daisy knew the truth. But Brittany, for now, could not.

At least until Octavia had the chance to smack some intelligence into her blonde head.


End file.
